Minerva and The Man Who Lived
by Queen Raja
Summary: It's past midnight on the same day Voldemort was slain, and Professor McGonagall can't sleep. And based off what she sees out her window, the same goes for a certain boy. Explores the friendship between Harry and our favorite professor.


Minerva McGonagall was restless.

That was really the only word for it. After the events of the day, there was simply no way the illustrious witch was going to sleep tonight. She had witnessed the death of several friends, colleagues, and students alike, all while fighting a battle that had seemingly already been lost.

When Minerva saw the dead body of the boy who had already sacrificed so much to a war in which he didn't even have the choice to join of his own volition...

She didn't even realize the noise had come from her own mouth until after she had stopped. In that very moment, she honestly thought the boy was dead, and the war was lost. She had never felt more desperate.

He deserved more than the hand he was dealt. Even if he was breathing and likely fast asleep in his dormitory right now, he shouldn't have had the responsibility of the entire wizarding world thrust upon his shoulders like that. He was still just a boy! Even if he had turned of age. Minerva suspected that no matter how old he became, she would always see him as much too young and undeserving of the horrors he had seen.

Shortly after the battle, there had been what she as a professor could only describe as pure chaos. Screams rang out from both sides, and what was left of Voldemort's follows quickly fled; the ones loyal enough to stay already lying on the ground. There was a very brief moment of silence, the calm before the storm, after He had fallen and Potter was standing there, in as much disbelief as everyone else. Then, the riot began. Cries of victory, screams for those lost. Running and jumping and yelling and crying. Potter stood in the middle of it all, silent and still. Minerva wished she knew exactly what must have been going in that boy's head.

Giving up on the hope that she would get any sleep at all, Minerva rose from her bed and began to pace her private quarters, which she had spent the majority of the evening restoring to a somewhat-livable state. Her brain would simply not turn off. She walked to her stovetop and decided a hot cup of tea would put her mind at ease. As she waited for the kettle to sing, she turned to her window overlooking the Quidditch pitch. She could see the memories so clearly of when her biggest worry was beating Slytherin in the weekly match.

How times have changed.

As she pondered her youth and the so-called "Good Old Days", she noticed a silhouette moving along the outside of the stadium, alone. She watched the figure move in the direction of the lake. It seemed to be in no rush, kicking up the dirt and rocks as its feet dragged. Turning off the stove, Minerva checked the time. Seeing it was close to one in the morning, she deduced that there was no logical reason for a person, especially if it were a student, to be wandering alone at this time of night. Especially considering the wards protecting the school had not yet been restored, it was downright unsafe for anyone to be out and about.

Resigning that it was her responsibility to make sure this figure was alright (and not up to anything nefarious), she hurriedly put the kettle away and transformed into her animagus form, prepared to set out after the figure.

* * *

McGonagall was able to use her feline senses to catch the scent of the shadow, and her speedy reflexes to gain ground. Approaching the shore of the Black Lake, Minerva finally caught up to the silhouette. From behind, the old cat could see it was a man with dark hair, sitting slumped over and letting the water lap over his shoes. Upon further inspection, she realized she'd know the back of his head from anyone's. She'd seen it enough times slumped over a textbook, or eating in the great hall. She'd seen it hunched over in laughter, and resigned in sadness. She'd seen the same head on James, and she's seen it on Harry.

She took a quick second before making herself known to observe the boy. He certainly couldn't be described as jovial or celebratory— as most would expect him to be after the events of the day. But he didn't seem necessarily upset either. He wasn't crying, or at least not obviously. His posture, while certainly not alert, wasn't riddled with sadness as she has honestly expected him to be. Today had to be the most trying day of the young boy's life, and he was allowed to be upset after all that had happened.

Enough was enough. Doing so a few feet away so as to avoid startling the boy, Minerva transformed back into the professor she knew the boy would need. She slowly approached him.

"Mr. Potter," she spoke.

Harry's head whipped around faster than a golden snitch. He clearly hadn't been expecting company. It was also evident that he recognized her voice however, as he didn't bother to raise his wand or stand, despite the unexpected intrusion. He knew this was the voice of an ally.

"Professor," he replied, a hint of surprise in his voice.

McGonagall moved so she was standing next to him, finally getting a decent look at his face that the moonlight bouncing off the water was able to provide.

"What are you doing here? It's well past midnight. You should be sleeping," he scolded.

It seemed rather ironic that he was the one to be reprimanding her. Not that she would do such a thing after the day he's had.

"I could say the same to you," she rebuked, lacking the usual sharpness and venom that often laced her tone. "but in light of recent events, I suppose I don't have to."

"Ah," he replied. Not the most intelligent comment he could have made, but once again, she reminded herself of just what he'd been through.

A soft silence followed. She took that as her invitation to sit beside him on the shore.

If he seemed startled by the casualness provided by the normally stern professor, he didn't show it. They both stared out into the water as they each tried to come up with something substantial to say.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she began, "but I'm also guessing that's the last thing you want to hear right now."

She could see the gears that were grinding away in his head stop, as he turned to look at her once again. His face was as transparent as it ever had been, revealing a look of surprised reverence. She congratulated herself internally for knowing how to comfort the boy-who-lived.

"Uh, yeah. Actually." She waited patiently for him to continue. "Everyone has been congratulating me all day. It somehow doesn't seem appropriate."

She continued to wait for an explanation that would never come. "And why not?" She prodded.

"It's just..." He let his sentence trail off. His next statement was said so quietly, she probably wouldn't have caught it if not for her feline sense of hearing.

"So many people died because of me."

So that's what this late night journey was about then. Potter was feeling guilty. Guilty for something that wasn't his fault. Guilty for something he had no control over.

Guilty for the actions of the man he worked so hard to defeat.

Minerva was at a crossroads. Does she offer him absolution, and tell him not to stew over something that wasn't even his fault? Or does the provide comfort and understanding, knowing those types of proclamations would be futile?

"None of that could be stopped, Harry." She decided to use his first name in hopes that he would realized she wasn't trying to scold him for thinking that way.

He looked as if he was about to disagree, when McGonagall uttered, "When was the last time you ate? And don't lie to me," putting on her best professor voice.

The question took him aback. "Um... I guess a day ago? Maybe two?"

That was unacceptable. Rising to her feet, Minerva outstretched her hand, indicating for him to do the same. He took it, and together they began to walk toward the castle.

"I would've eaten at the feast held for everyone, but... I just wasn't ready to face them yet."

She could understand that. If he really did feel worse with every congratulation and well wishes, she could only imagine how he would feel when they started to ask questions. And there's no doubt they'd start to ask questions very soon.

"I understand," she said simply. "Of course I normally wouldn't allow this, but today has been anything but normal, and you are not a normal boy. You'll be coming to my quarters and having a decent meal."

"But—"

"End of discussion." Honestly, this boy...

She didn't turn head to look at him, but she swore she could see a small smile grace his face. She smiled too.

Minerva put her hand on the back of the boy's shoulder, and they continued on their way.

* * *

Potter sat down at her kitchen table while she put water back in the kettle and turned the stove on. She asked one of the house elves who was still awake, Yippy, to bring them something substantial to eat. Seeing who he was serving, Yippy was more than happy to oblige, offering to make a feast worthy of a king for the grand savior of the wizarding world. Sensing Potter was uncomfortable being put in the position of hero once again, she simply asked for two servings of Shepard's pie and treacle tart, and quickly sent Yippy on his way.

As she waited for the water to boil, she sat down at the table and looked into the boy's eyes. Finally, she asked the question she's been itching to ask since she saw him out the window.

"Potter, how are you?"

"Well Professor, I'd say I'm surprisingly alright considering the day I've had."

Hard to argue that. But is he actually alright?

"You almost died today," she remembered, as if she'll ever stop remembering.

"I think I technically did," he laughed morbidly. "And the same could be said for you, professor. You almost died too."

"Oh, please." She smiled for the first time in what felt like eternity. "It would take a lot more than a war to stop me. I lived through the first one, I knew I'd make it through this one."

Harry gave what looked to be a pitying smile, but before she could wipe it off his face, The kettle whistled and she poured them both a cup.

Sitting back down with a sigh, he was the first one to break the silence this time.

Out of nowhere: "I saw Professor Dumbledore."

What? Certainly he can't mean...

"When I was dead, I mean. I saw him."

He must have recognized the mixture of surprise and shock on her face, because he felt the need to elaborate.

"We were standing in King's Cross Station. Except it was white and... clean. And he was there."

Just as he admitted that, Yippy appeared with their dinners. Harry's was served on a literal golden platter, and Minerva wondered exactly where in the castle that kind of platter was hiding. After asking for his autograph (and Harry, of course, giving it) Yippy wished them a good night and apparated with a crack.

She was still left wondering about his encounter with Albus, but didn't want to pry. The last thing she wanted to do was make him feel uncomfortable. Still...

She wasn't left waiting for very long. Apparently he was as eager to talk as she was to listen.

"He... Dumbledore... he was waiting for me. We talked," he muttered between bites. He really was starved. "He told me I had a choice. I could stay or I could get on the next train."

McGonagall cut into her pie and contemplated this. "Where would the train take you?"

Harry stopped chewing and smiled a bit. "On," he recited.

What a typical Albus thing to say. Always cryptic, but mirthful at the same time. She could almost picture the twinkle in his eye as he relayed this advice to Potter.

For the first time in over a year, she took a long look at the boy she had known since she placed him on the doorstep on Privet Drive. He looked different. Certainly nothing had changed physically, aside from 5 O'Clock shadow (or make that closer to 2 O'Clock now) and maybe growing a few centimeters. No, it was a look in his eyes. He gained a fraction of Albus's trademarked twinkle, that glimmer that says _I know something you don't._

And she was so _damn _proud of him.

Her Gryffindor.

She figured out what it was. The boy-who-lived was no longer a boy. He was a man. Although almost nothing was physically different, but his soul has grown up. Possibly sooner than it should have, but he carries himself like a man. He's more mature, because he's had to be.

He seemed to notice her staring, and asked rather awkwardly, "Um, Professor?"

Shaken out of her reverie, she realized they were both finished with their dinner. Or breakfast, she supposed. She vanished the remains and silently summoned the tartan container she always kept in her office.

"Potter," she started quietly, "I believe after all we've been through, you've earned the right the call me Minerva. Wouldn't you agree?"

He smiled a truly genuine smile and his eyes shone.

"Only if you call me Harry," he joked. That is something she would need to get used to, though she guessed calling her by her first name would be an adjustment for him as well.

"Harry," she acquiesced.

Harry gave one of James's signature smiles that she could only describe then and now as cheeky.

"_Minerva." _He stretched out all of the syllables as if he was getting away with saying a naughty word.

She gave a rare low laugh and held out the tartan container in front of him.

"Have a biscuit, Harry."

**This was my first Fanfic! Please let me know what you think. Any constructive criticism is greatly****appreciated**!


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